Monday, March 16, 2009

Wednesday, March 11, 2009

One my young father office-mates missed out on our most beautiful baby competition. I gave him the low down and invited him to take part in the second round. The odds are in his favor because he has seven children. In a genuine way he said "Oh, every baby is beautiful. They are all unique gifts from God." He then took down his family pictures and told me a few cute stories about his littlest kids. It sounds corny, or agravating, but he was so real and honest it was a sweet moment, and I had to abruptly flee because I was tearing up. Families rock.

I sit by three young fathers at work. They got in a pretty hilarious beautiful baby competition the other night. (That's how accountants get wild working long hours.) Each man very earnestly brought their best baby pictures for me to judge, and I very earnestly avoided making any real judgements. They really were all cuties, but there was a clear winner. He was a heartbreaker. Beautiful dark eyes, sweet face and juicy, chubby cheeks. The event got me thinking about how I never think of my babies. I used to. But I can't see or imagine babies. Only kids. Well, no, I do sometimes think of abstract babies who are not very cute and bawl and spit up continuously and grow into mutant looking children with mediocre personalities, who I will love anyway. I told H about my thoughts. His response "What if we have a beautiful baby, with a really great personality?" We drove in silence for a few seconds while we both pictured that one. "It is less painful to imagine a maggot-baby," I said. "Yes", H agreed. We drove on in silence, probably thinking of traffic.

Sunday, March 1, 2009

A friend spoke in church today about how she continually is being served up a piece of humble pie. She talked about how her judgments of other people, their parenting, etc. have always come back to haunt her. Her take on it, however was that it was God's kind way of teaching compassion.

I think her interpretation is a much better way to view things. Better than my view that I was simply getting what was coming to me.

Another friend posted a comment a while back about the ideal being that we would be able to to have enough compassion to learn from others experiences and sorrows without having to actually go through the experience.

I really am grateful for the insight my firsthand experiences with infertility have given me, but I am shooting for being able to glean insight and compassion without judgements. Starting today.

About Me

I am a woman who, despite best intentions, modern medicine, bad advice, and a whole lotta good old fashioned trying, cannot reproduce. I am the genetic mule. These are the stories of my quest for a baby, my denial that I want a baby, and every other thing in between. I have found the best ways to cope with this particular brand of tough stuff is by sharing the sadness and looking for the humor in infertility with fellow mules. Sarcasm, dark humor, occasional bitching, and of course frequent crying all seem to help me. One thing that I have particular trouble with is HOPE. I'll work on it.
But here is something sweet for those of you tough enough to handle some of the H word. I did a google search of "genetic mule" just before I published my first post to make sure no clever person had stolen my name before I got to it, and the only thing that came up was this:
http://www.eyeondna.com/2007/07/31/genetic-impossibility-female-mule-gives-birth-to-foal/
Read it and weep. I did. I guess there is hope even for a mule like me.